


Crimson Shadows

by IShouldUpdateMore



Category: The Arcana (Visual Novel)
Genre: Gore, Just Julian Being A Dramatic Bitch Again, M/M, Traveller Muriel, Vampire AU, Vampire Julian, Vampire Nadia, Violence, Witch Asra, vampire, vampire lucio
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-03
Updated: 2019-09-24
Packaged: 2020-10-06 03:30:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 15,829
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20500151
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IShouldUpdateMore/pseuds/IShouldUpdateMore
Summary: Muriel, a wandering traveller from a clan long abandoned, is injured out on a journey one day. With nowhere else to go, he tries to find help at the first building he sees. Bleeding, stumbling, exhausted and weary, he finds himself in the house of a mysterious stranger.Julian had been so desperately lonely, longing for new company until the day Muriel stumbles to his door. The stranger doesn't want to stay, but solitude is unforgiving and Julian doesn't want to be alone any longer.Muriel's suspicious and untrusting. Julian's eager to please and too welcoming.It's a recipe for disaster.





	1. Stormy Weather

Muriel was used to storms.

Well… he should have been used to storms. 

He knew what storms were like. He knew what it felt like when they rolled into town -- he could always feel it in the air. The way the wind brushed over his skin and rose goosebumps. The way the heavens would rumble and groan above. The way the air tasted, the way it smelled. Even before night fell and the thick blanketing of clouds draped across the sky, obscuring the pale white light of the moon and the stars, Muriel knew the storm that night would be rough. In fact, he had known it would storm the moment he woke up that morning. 

He planned on finding a town as soon as he possibly could. He knew from the thinning of the trees and the health of the streams that there had to be something up ahead -- a little village on the side of a river, perhaps an Inn set up to house travellers and nomads such as himself. Muriel knew the shape of the land and how both humanity and nature would mold themselves about it almost as well as he knew the foreshadowing of a storm. He counted on stumbling across some sort of place he could take refuge in during the storm. 

What he hadn’t been counting on was getting himself stuck in a hunter’s trap along the way. 

It was a stupid mistake -- especially for someone like him. However, there were reasons such a mistake had been made. One example, of course, was the confusion as to why a trapper would lay such an instrument in such an odd place. The only game Muriel had stumbled across had been squirrels and the occasional quail -- nothing large enough to prompt something as large as a bear trap. He hadn’t been looking out for it. 

Another reason Muriel let his ankle get caught had been the distraction. One of those squirrels Muriel had seen earlier was caught in a smaller sort of wire cage. After a slight cock of his head and a glance towards Inanna, a wolf who had traveled with him ever since he left his home city, Muriel stepped forwards to try and free it without glancing down to the forest bed. 

The initial pain hadn’t been as bad as the realization of what had just happened. Muriel had cried out, pinching his eyes shut and instantly falling to his knees -- both hands meeting the steel trap clamped around his ankles. Iron grippers dug deep into his flesh, breaking skin through the fabric of his pants. Inanna had instantly stiffened, hair raising up along her back, teeth bared. Muriel, however, told her to stay back through gritted teeth, trying to soothe the rapid beating of his heart as he worked to ease the springs back. 

It took too long for him to get out of the trap -- and then too long for him to let that squirrel out of its own trap -- which brings us back to the topic of storms. 

It was downright horrid by the time Muriel had stumbled his way out of the forest and into that clearing he had been looking for earlier. The winds were powerful and angry. The rain came down in relentless sheets that soaked Muriel down to the bone. The occasional flash of lighting shared momental visibility, but then the crackling boom of thunder would shake the Earth in the wake of every single one. Muriel could barely see his own two hands, let alone the ground to search for any more traps. All he could do was limp the direction he’d been walking earlier -- the soaking wet Inanna by his side, guiding him, helping him walk. All he could do was hope that town or that Inn would come into view… 

And then, finally, Muriel spotted the faint amber glow of candle light through the haze of rain and the ink of night. The relief was indescribable -- however at the same time, the sight of salvation inspired a deeper chill to strike him at his very core. Inspired a heavier ache to thrum up his leg from where he’d been caught by that bear trap. He was lucky he hadn’t broken anything, but the blood still flowed sluggishly from the ringlet of wounds that circled about his ankle. He’d have to treat it soon -- he was already feeling lightheaded. 

Muriel and Inanna stepped into the clearing in a haste, the drumming of the rain worse once the forest canopy had been left behind and they were at the mercy of the clouds above. Muriel had been right about a river nearby -- he could hear it flowing heavily somewhere to his right, dangerous and powerful with the rage of the storm. Muriel kept away from it and followed the amber light, stumbling in the wind -- his head ducked and his cloak wrapped securely round his head and shoulders. 

The closer he got to that light however… the further he realized that it hadn’t been coming from any sort of town at all. 

The mass of shadow -- the structure that would present itself with every white flash of lightning -- was too large to be an inn. Too… magnificent. Muriel didn't allow himself to feel inawed at the size of the brick building he’d been approaching, one made from towers and topped with spokes and lined with intricate statues of gargoyles that looked like demons in the shadow of the storm. If he didn't know any better, he’d assume it was a castle he’d been approaching…

But he didn't have time to dwell on it. 

Muriel passed the iron gates, their hinges squealing along with the groaning clouds above. Another flash of lightning lit up the world as he made his way to the front doors, displaying the green grime and crawling ivy that decorated the front steps and the walls. Muriel tried to ignore how run down the manor had actually been as he reached a shaky, bloodied hand up to the knocker. He closed his eyes as his fingers met cool, spiderwebbed brass, hesitance thrumming through his system for just that very instant. 

Distrust was something that came easily to him. Distrust in strangers especially. If he hadn’t been so desperate, Muriel wouldn't dare approaching such a place. If he wasn’t bleeding, he might have even just slept somewhere in the forest and dealt with the rain and the cold. It was something he had done before -- something he had no trouble with. Muriel was used to the storms.

If he wasn’t so desperate, he’d just keep going until he found the town he’d been looking for. 

But the thing was… Muriel had been desperate. 

Muriel could feel the boom of his three knocks reverberate through the mansion before him -- he could hear the echoes of it as though it had been created from a sort of magical force. A dark, magical force. Muriel stepped back, his heart already a beat or so faster as he listened to the echo of the knocker. He swallowed hard, looking down at Inanna beside him with a furrowed sort of brow.

If he was lucky, the manor was empty and abandoned. Then he could just slip inside and stay there alone the way he liked it until the storm passed. 

As if to fit the awkward, almost eerie demeanour of the manor, the door- crafted of a brilliant ash tree, worn with age and scratched at, ivy growing and peeking out from almost each and every crevice- began to swing slowly open on it’s hinges, which groaned and creaked with an ungodly sort of shriek against the otherwise silent manor. The thrumming of the rain even seemed to hush around it, intimidated by the screeching of old metal.

Muriel swallowed hard, his throat clicking, and cautiously crept his way through the doorway.

The interior to the manor reflected the outside with it’s once-pristine state now being overrun and destroyed by ivy and moss that lay claim to the cobbled stone flooring in the foyer and the worn wooden floors that marked the threshold of the main hall. There was light inside, a soft and golden glow emanating from the few candles that decorated the foyer. They didn’t seem to have been burning for long, but that meant that there was someone here. A step into the house would allow Muriel to see the brilliant chandelier that hung from the ceiling, with dozens of candles on each of the four layers it held, all burning- though it evidently didn’t supply enough light to reach every corner of the room.

The room stretched a spectacular fifteen metres across, with the gaping archway from the foyer to the main room being dead in the middle, about two metres wide itself. It wasn’t too clear with how dimly the candles shined, but if a guess had to be made then the room was likely twenty-five (perhaps more) metres long. At the far end was a doorway, and either side of that two staircases split off at either side of the room, curving toward the wall and leading up to the second floor. 

At the top of those staircases was an open hall, lined with an old and decrepit wooden bannister, wrapped around with ivy and climbing plants, worn away at. Whoever lived here clearly didn’t care much for good first impressions. As beautiful as the manor could have been, time had taken its toll. If it weren’t for the candles being lit, it would be safe to assume the place was abandoned.

“Ohoho, a visitor?” called a voice from somewhere above, loud and dramatic. Each word seemed to have been drawled out far more than necessary. The accent was thick and somewhat slavic, though clearly mixed in with some other accents from years of travel. “I haven’t had a visitor for many years… If only I’d had time to clear up the place a little.”

Muriel jumped at the voice, whipping his head up to the banister, eyes wide. He took a stumbled step backwards, the door still wide open behind him -- the rain soaking the old, already molden rug that laid itself before the entrance. Muriel’s own tone was croaky and gruff when he spoke up, words a little shaky with the tremor of his lips and the clatter of his teeth. 

“I-... I’m sorry-” he said. Inanna beside him had stood up, her soaked fur raised, eyes narrowed as she sniffed the air. There was a crack of thunder behind him -- one that rattled the whole house. “I didn't know if it was empty. I… I knocked…” 

Another shiver racked through him again -- his hands found the opposite arms in a sort of self hug. Cool rainwater dripped from his soaked clothes around him on the old, cracked flooring. Oddly, despite the look of it, the manor was warm inside. The faint crackling of a healthy fireplace echoed from one of the distant rooms beneath the drumming of the rain and the howl of the wind. Even with the inviting warmth, Muriel found himself drifting backwards toward the open doorway. Toward the cold storm outside. 

“I can go-...” 

Inanna gave a low whine. His ankle ached. His head was still light -- still swimming. 

“But-... but I’d… I’d rather stay until the morning. Just until the storm passes. If that’s alright with… with you… I guess.”

The figure at the top of the stairs didn’t hesitate, beginning down the stairs on the left side of the hall.  
“Stay, stay, there’s plenty of room,” he said, though his voice was no longer booming through the halls and had lost the emphasis that he’d driven through every word. He was coming properly into the light as he came down the stairs. The first thing to notice about the lean figure as he approached was the pale complexion of his skin, which was especially striking against his vibrant red hair, which came in messy tufts over the right side of his face, obscuring his eye as if the black eyepatch he wore wasn’t doing a good enough job.

His lips had tugged up into a smile, eyebrow cocked, as he began to approach the figure stood in his doorway.  
“Come, out of the cold. Close the door, this place can be draughty enough.” His eyes flicked down, noticing the smear of red that stained Muriel’s pant leg and had smeared onto the floor as he walked, blood dripping down his ankles and, now that it wasn’t being washed away by the rain, leaving a growing puddle of crimson on the cobbled floor.

The man’s eyes flicked from the wound back up to Muriel, the smile fading from his lips and his brows pressing with concern.  
“Come, I’ve spare supplies. Would a dressing for your wound be enough payment to learn your name, handsome traveller?”

Muriel swallowed again, his throat dry, his tongue feeling clumsy in his mouth when he spoke. “Muriel.” He stepped away from the door, groping backwards for the door to close it. The old hinges groaned dangerously as it swung to a close, the door clicking in place with a heavy thunk of sound that echoed through the manor. 

He couldn’t feel the heat of his blush beneath the chill of his skin, but Muriel still reached his hand up to brush the wet hair back from his face. Even with the door closed, he shied away from the stranger slow as he limped back from the man and closer to Inanna -- who still had her teeth bared and her ears pressed back against her head. 

“I just need supplies… I can take care of myself…” He didn't mean to sound so gruff -- that man was offering help, after all -- but something about that man was strikingly… off. Strikingly dangerous. Muriel wouldn't let himself get too close. “I can pay you, though.”

“Pay me? Company is payment enough, dear Muriel,” he said, not seeming to think before he reached out to take Muriel’s arm, his hand settling on his forearm, gesturing to the door the far end of the hall. His touch was cold, though, with none of the warmth that Muriel’s body had. It was an odd detail to notice, though. Surely the chill was just a delusion from the cold outside? “Through there. I have a crackling fire waiting for someone to sit by it, and I can fetch bandages aplenty while you warm up.”

He gestured to the door again, with a little more of a flourish, but when Muriel didn’t seem too eager to go (Why not walk deeper into an odd strangers house? It was a mystery.) the man tugged at his arm a little, an attempt to pull him along instead of waiting for him to move.

Muriel flinched when the man had touched him, eyes wide, and he certainly didn't move when the stranger tugged him. However, a throaty growl rumbled out from beside him -- Inanna’s whole body stiff and poised with threat as she moved forward between Muriel and the stranger, head ducked and eyes dangerous as they trained themselves directly upon the man before her. Muriel murmured out her name, but he couldn’t deny the relief that flooded his system when the stranger took his hand back. 

“She doesn’t take kindly to strangers,” Muriel said quietly. “I-... I’m sorry. She won’t bite unless I want her to.” 

He hugged himself a little tighter, looking down to the floor. Muriel muttered Inanna’s name again with a bit more conviction, and she raised her head a bit -- looking back to him with a low whine. There was something wrong with that man and she knew it. Muriel just shrugged his shoulders, features set, gaze stoic as he nodded. 

“What… what should I call you?” he asked. 

Despite still looking a little shaken by Inanna’s advancement, the man glanced up. He managed a smile, though he had backed off by a few paces once he’d heard the warning growls and noticed Inanna’s approaching and bristled fur.  
“Julian,” he said after a moment, his eyes fixed on Inanna for a few moments longer, evidently disliking that he was being threatened by such a large animal. “Julian Devorak, and much like your friend, I won’t bite unless you tell me to.” And, after a moment or so, “I was winking, but the eyepatch… it…” he cleared his throat, straightening up again.

An embarrassed blush had crossed his cheeks by then, likely due to his own mistake, and the man, Julian, once again gestured toward the door.  
“I could bring everything out here, but you’re trembling and I’m sure you’d appreciate the fire. This place warms up quick, and I should hope you do too. I’m good at treating wounds, but if hypothermia gets you then that knowledge won’t be much use.”

Muriel furrowed his brow at Julian’s strange comment and awkward demeanor, but he nodded gently anyways, flicking his eyes back towards the door that Julian had gestured to. There was a moment or so of a quiet sort of pause, the rain and the wind the only sound behind the tremble of Muriel’s breath, but then Julian began to lead the way. Inanna made sure the two of them kept their distance as they followed the strange man deeper into the house. Muriel continued to limp, overly conscious of the blood and rainwater he tracked across Julian’s floors. He supposed in a house so big… the man must have had servants of some kind. Poor servants, of course, judging by the state of the floors and the mites of dust that could be seen flowing idly through the air with every flash of lightning that lit the room. 

Julian lead them into what appeared to be some sort of living area, fitted with large, red cushioned sofas placed in an orderly sort of way about a large, roaring fireplace. The moment Julian threw open the doors, heat met Muriel with a cozy sort of embrace -- one that already began to sink into his skin and ease the shivers that racked his system. 

Muriel looked around, noting the same sort of decrepit, ill maintenance that plagued the room before. The walls were chipping of their once vibrant paint, the floors were cobbled and cracked with age. The tall stained glass windows were still intact, casting an array of blues and pinks across the floor with every crack of lighting. However, as Julian passed them, he pulled the dusty tassels to each set of drapes, allowing the curtains to fall over each one before he moved back to one of the sofas. Muriel watched him gesture one with a melodramatic wave of his hand. 

It took Muriel a moment to realize Julian wanted him to sit. “I- I can’t,” Muriel argued, shaking his head. “I’m soaking wet. I don’t want to...” He trailed off, eyes falling upon the old cushions of Julian’s chair. It looked as though getting a bit wet wouldn't hurt them much at all in their state. Muriel, however, continued. “I don’t want to ruin your cushions…” 

“I’m sure they can handle a little water,” Julian assured him, looking over to a cupboard on the other side of the fireplace and approaching it, throwing the doors open and pushing aside many odd-looking trinkets that he’d collected that were stacked up atop of each other. His medical kit was tucked away at the back- he didn’t have much use for it lately, and it wasn’t like he had many injured visitors wandering in- but he managed to pull it out without sending many items clattering to the floor. It was a small wooden box with a red cross painted blotchily on the front, the paint chipping away in some spots.

He set it upon the table, flicking open two rusted metal clasps and flicking it open. The materials on the inside, unlike the box, were in a decent condition. The rolls of bandages were still clean, and the glass bottles of alcohol to use for disinfectants were still shut tightly, without a drop having been spilt. The needle for stitching wounds was cleaned, and there was a full roll of thread that lay beside it.  
“This will be far easier if you’re sat down, too. You’re bleeding heavily. If you pass out standing up, I doubt that I’ll be able to get you onto the sofa myself. Not with your charming dog’s current attitude toward me, in any case. Sit, and show me your wound.”

Muriel furrowed his brow, craning his neck to get a good look at the medical kit Julian had laid about the table. That distrust inside of him only grew stronger -- especially at the sight of the needle pinched between the strangers gloved fingers. However, there was no denying the swimming of his head or the sway of his step when he took his cautious step forward towards the sofa. The fire crackled over the sheets of rain against those glass windows, its comfort warm and oppressive to the whispers and fears that nipped and nagged at Muriel’s system. 

Keeping a fair distance from Julian as he went, Muriel moved to the sofa. He cautiously shed his cloak before sitting, exposing his bare chest to the cozy warmth of the room. He looked around for somewhere to hang it. When he found nothing, Muriel simply draped it over the backrest and eased down on the red cushion. 

The sofa sighed beneath his weight, the springs groaning as Muriel settled. His bare shoulders were tense and raised, shaky hands curled into fists as he reached down for his pant leg -- fingers only extending when he rolled it up to expose the wound. It looked worse than he thought it was. The bleeding was heavy, the bruises were already forming. Muriel would be limping on it for awhile -- he was lucky the trap hadn’t broken bone. 

“Bear trap,” Muriel mumbled once he found Julian staring. At first, he took the gaze as a concerned sort of puzzlement -- however the longer Muriel studied his features, the less concerned that stranger had seemed. The slight slackening of the jaw. The widening eyes. The subtle licking and then not so subtle biting of his lips. 

If Muriel didn't know any better… he’d take such a stare as one brewed from hunger…

Muriel looked away, swallowing hard as he tried to force the thought from his head. His throat was so dry it hurt. He felt his voice croak when he spoke again. 

“I’m sorry if it was yours,” he said softly. “I didn't… well obviously I didn't mean to set it off. But… you should know this isn’t bear country. Nomads drove them away. You won’t catch many in these woods…” A bitter distaste spread about his tongue at the idea of catching bears. Muriel decided it would be best not to express that to Julian though, especially with his hospitality… 

And the fact that Julian had a needle in his hands. Muriel clenched his jaw from worry, a new chill -- one not from the cold -- ripping down his spine. He hoped Innana was watching. That she would lunge if Julian tried anything amiss. Then they would run back into the storm and follow the river to a town where Muriel could properly rest. 

Julian’s tore his gaze away from the open wound, instead focusing back on his medical kit. He took out a cloth and the alcohol, pulling the lid from the bottle and starting to pour it onto the cloth, needing to clean out the wound before anything else.  
“It wasn’t one of mine,” he said, though he didn’t lift his gaze from the cloth as if he were avoiding looking at Muriel entirely. “I’d not leave traps out.” He considered adding ‘not for animals, anyway’ as a joke of some sorts, but his humour didn’t seem to fit with Muriel’s so he chose to leave it. He picked up his cloth, moving to Muriel. 

He and Inanna shared a glance for a moment, and he raised his hands as if to show that he had no ill intent.  
“She won’t growl at me again, will she?” he asked, hesitant to approach Muriel. Especially when the alcohol would hurt badly, and Inanna surely wouldn’t like that. “This is going to sting, and I’d appreciate not being mauled for helping.”

Muriel shook his head, before turning to look at Inanna. “It’s okay,” he said in a softer, more soothing voice that was very obviously not intended for Julian. He reached a hand up to her head, brushing his fingers over thick, dampened fur. Inanna instantly relaxed, looking away from Julian and up toward Muriel with a whine. “Go dry off by the fire. I’ll be okay.” 

Inanna hesitated, but with one lick of Muriel’s hand and one parting stare in Julian’s direction, Inanna made her way toward the fire and curled up before it. She still watched them, but her fur had settled and her ears were no longer flat against her skull. 

Julian sighed with relief, moving closer. His bit down on his lower lip, working it between his teeth as he brought the cloth to Muriel’s wounds, starting first to wipe away the blood. It was doused fairly well in alcohol, which seeped into the wounds with a fierce burning and incredible stinging, yet Julian worked quickly at wiping and cleaning as if he expected Muriel to pull away from him.

Muriel tensed, air hissing through his teeth at that deep sting -- eyes snapping shut. He didn't pull away, however, only letting his nose wrinkle and his jaw clench as the alcohol was wiped across each wound. He took a cautious peek every now and again, frowning gently at his ringlet of wounds. The moment Julian would pass the cloth over one, blood would just begin to bead back up again. They had to be deep -- Muriel wondered if he hadn’t quite felt the pain before because of the adrenaline or just the plain cold. 

He stayed silent and watchful as Julian worked, calculating in his head. An injury like that would leave him limping and hobbling for days -- through a forest filled with more bear traps, that was. Muriel would have to spend his time in Julian’s home wisely… though he doubted even then he’d get much rest there. It was something about the home that unsettled him… something about the way the walls creaked in the wind or the way each sound echoed up the halls. How still and how dead the air felt regardless… as though he was simply in the midst of a corpse.

There was something wrong about that place. Muriel could feel it deep in his bones.

“Where are your servants?” Muriel asked cautiously. He could tell Julian had been holding back conversation from the way he lit up at the question. “Your house is too big to take care of on your own.” 

“Does it look like it's being taken care of?” he asked, brows furrowing, though he’d seemingly been starved for conversation as he pressed on unprompted.. “I live here alone. My sister lived with me a while ago, but…” something crossed his features, but he seemed to shake it off a few moments later. “She’s a traveller. She left a while ago for her own reasons. We didn’t part on the best terms but there’s nothing for me to be able to do about it. She left years ago, and even if I could talk to her again, I wouldn’t know where to look for her.”

Another careful wipe of the wounds and he took the bandages, unravelling some of the roll and beginning to wrap it tightly around Muriel’s leg. He had to apply pressure around the wounds if he wanted to stem the flow of blood, so he placed one hand on Muriel’s wound to apply pressure and wrapped the bandage tightly- uncomfortably so.  
“I was surprised to see someone new. When you came wandering, I must admit that I hadn’t expected the company. Much less for anyone coming to be so severely injured, or accompanied by a wolf. What were you doing out in the woods? This far from anyone else, too- the nearest village isn’t for a few miles.”

Muriel waited a few moments before speaking, knowing the pain would be apparent in his tone. He waited for the ache to subside before even thinking of anything to say. Muriel even decided to clear his throat for good measure. 

“I’m a traveller too,” he mumbled briskly. “I left my home a while ago. I just go where the world takes me now.” 

His answers were blunt and short -- and most importantly vague. Muriel could tell from somewhere in the back of his conscious that he was being somewhat rude. As odd and as unsettling as the figure before him was, that man had been giving him refuge, after all. He had been giving him medical attention as they spoke. Even with his reluctance, Muriel took a quiet breath of preparation, and parted his lips to speak. 

“Thanks…” His voice was low and gruff. “For helping me, I mean. I’ll leave as soon as the storm passes -- if you can point me in the right direction of town, that would be… great.” 

Julian tugged at the bandages firmly, beginning to tighten the wrap as he tied it off, finishing the wrapping.  
“When the storm passes?” he asked, glancing down at the blood that had gotten on his hands and, after a moment of hesitance that lasted just a moment too long, he began to wipe his hands off on a clean cloth. “You- Uh, you shouldn’t. Not that soon, with your leg-” he began to put the equipment back into the medical kit, a little relieved that he hadn’t had to use the needle and thread. 

He cleared his throat, licking his lips as he stood back up straight.  
“You’re wounded too severely. Putting your leg under that much strain that soon could worsen the injury or prevent it from healing for potential weeks. You ought to stay here, to rest. Even if it wouldn’t worsen the state of the injury, walking several miles into the forest could exhaust you, and it could take too long. If you’re caught in another storm before making it to the village, what would you do?” He shook his head, seemingly having made up his mind. Even if Muriel wouldn’t like the idea of staying, leaving wasn’t an option now. 

His eyes glanced over to Inanna, as if making sure that she wasn’t getting aggravated and that she wouldn’t be set on him and catch him off guard.  
“There’s plenty of room for the two of you in here. I’ll have to find more food for two new mouths to feed, but I’m sure I can handle it. Still, the both of you ought to stay.” Even as he spoke, though, he seemed conflicted. He grew quiet, which seemed uncharacteristic even for someone like Muriel who had only just met him. 

Muriel shook his head. “I-... I don’t want to impose,” he argued, scrambling for an excuse. Everything Julian had been saying was right. Everything he’d been saying was pointless to deflect or rebut. “I’ve been injured before, Mr. uh…” 

“Doctor.”

Muriel blinked. He had to think a moment to remember the name. “Devorak.” It felt odd on his tongue, but he continued anyway. “I promise I’ll be alright. I have Inanna.” 

At her name, Inanna offered a whine that attracted both their gazes. She had stretched out before the fire, looking comfortable and calm, her tail thumping against the old rug as she continued to dry off. Muriel rolled his eyes with a huff, turning back to look at his ankle before settling his foot on the ground.

“I’m good at navigating storms and forests. I’ll be fine.” Muriel continued to state his weak case as he began to push up from the sofa to stand. “Thanks again for the offer but- agh!” 

The moment any weight had been settled upon his ankle -- pain shot all the way up his leg. A deep sort of ache that settled in his bones and clung to them with a relentless sort of fervor. Muriel’s knees buckled and back to the sofa he fell, both hands flying to his wrapped ankle -- eyes once again snapped closed. Inanna had leapt up from her spot of relaxation, hurrying over to Muriel’s side and sniffling at his hands. The wounds throbbed beneath their dressings to the fast beating of Muriel’s heart. 

How had it gotten so bad so quickly? Again, Muriel blamed it on the cold and the emotion from before. He gave a low, grumbling sigh, shoulders slumping. 

“I’ll be fine,” he insisted, despite the display. “I just… I just need some rest.”

“Then rest,” Julian insisted, taking a step toward him to help but stopping when he glanced down at Inanna. “I can take you to a spare room. I have many on this floor, so you won’t have to climb up a flight of stairs, but if I offer this hospitality to you then I’ll need to know I can trust having you in my house.” 

He took another step closer, reaching one hand out to Inanna.  
“I’m going to help,” he told her, eyes flicking to Muriel and then back to his pet. “I’ll brief you on some rules when I’ve gotten you somewhere that you can rest properly.”

When Inanna didn’t growl at him or raise her fur, Julian one again stepped over to Muriel. He wasn’t quite sure how he was going to support the weight of such a large man, but he was just going to have to do his best. It was that or Muriel was going to rest here, but with the blood that had pooled on the floor and stained the couch, Julian didn’t want to spend much more time in here than he had to.

Muriel’s skin crawled at the idea of letting a stranger get so close while he was so vulnerable -- but there wasn’t much he could do as Julian sank close to his side and gestured for Muriel to sling his arm over his shoulders. Muriel gave Julian a wary sort of stare, the worry apparent in his features as he slowly lifted his arm to drape it over Julian. He was cool to the touch — where Muriel’s bare skin graced the back of the man’s neck, the contact felt icy. Muriel tried to ignore it as Julian stood him up again, tense and poised for action as he settled his weight on Julian beside him. 

The damp cloak was left on the sofa — Muriel didn’t have a chance to lean back and grab it before Julian started back toward the main hall. Inanna followed closely behind, offering the occasional huff or threatening growl as she stalked beside Julian. Muriel told her it was alright twice, but apparently his tone hadn’t been very convincing. She continued her vigilant watch over her friend and that pale stranger all the way across the main hall and deeper into the manor. 

They passed beneath the staircase in their staggering, slightly unbalanced manner and into another, narrower hall. This section of the home was carpeted a rug that had once been a deep and healthy red — reduced to a dull maroon sort of shade over time. It only went so far, the far wall decorated with an old, cracking oil painting that hung over a little table and a vase of dead, withered flowers. Julian brought him to the first door and opened it with a low creak, the room inside dark with shadow that only ceased with a. flash of lightning from outside. 

Julian helped Muriel to the darkened silhouette of a chair — Muriel was thankful to collapse into it, reaching touch to hold his ankle again as Julian moved to light some of the candles and lamps about the room. It took a moment or so, but soon the space was alit with a cozy amber, presenting a handsomely decorated guest bedroom with a wide, king size mattress fitted with silken sheets. The state of the room was a bit messy like the rest of the home, of course — with its cobbedwebbed corners and it’s dusty tables and it’s peeling walls — but Muriel has certainly stayed and lived in worse. 

Muriel watched as Julian made his way toward the fireplace. The man worked quickly to get the fire going, lighting the old wood and prodding it with the iron poker until a healthy fire had begun to crackle and warm the space. Muriel was quiet and observant, looking around the room for necessity. It had nearly everything most bedrooms would need — wardrobes, desks, paper, candles. There was a door by the back wall that must have been a bathroom of sorts. 

The only thing Muriel couldn’t see had been a mirror. 

“I hope this room will have to suffice. The manor entirely has fallen into a state of disrepair, however, so it isn’t in the peak condition it had once been.” He turned to look at Muriel, offering up a smile. “On the topic of rules, however… my room is upstairs. Through the double doors on the top floor is a hallway, and my chambers are at the far end of that. Those are off-limits, and if I’m needed while inside then knock or call for me and I’ll come as soon as I can. The rest of the house you can wander around freely, and if you want to go outside, simply because the woods are so vast, consider sticking to the back garden, which is fenced off. I have a large garden, though, with a lake and plenty of flowerbeds.”

He began toward the door.  
“If you have any dietary requirements of preferences, I will be more than happy to oblige but I’d appreciate being told. I’ll be going out to the village when the storm passes, so hopefully I’ll be able to get plenty of food for you then. I’m not… an expert chef, so if you’re capable of cooking I’d advise taking the task on yourself. Aside from that, you should be fine staying here. Is there anything that you need or do you want me to leave you?”

Muriel furrowed his brow a little, wrapping his arms around himself as he looked up at Julian by the door. Dr. Devorak seemed awfully specific for someone who’d just be housing him for a few days at most. Rules? Dietary requests? It all unsettled Muriel to the core — he’d have to remind the stranger he was merely just passing through until his ankle would heal. 

“I’m fine,” he said quietly. “I’m fine eating anything too. But you don’t have to feed me… there’s a river nearby. I know how to fish.” 

With a soft huff, Muriel turned away from Julian, looking towards the fireplace — feeling the heavy warmth waft from it and dry his dampened hair. He’d have to put it up once Julian left. Cool droplets of rainwater still slipped down the back of his neck and inspired chills down his spine. He’d be lucky if he didn’t get sick. 

“Thanks,” Muriel grumbled. “I mean… again. For everything. Sorry to, uh, wake you up for all of this.”

“Wake me? I wasn’t resting, Muriel, there’s nothing for you to worry about. I’ll see you in the morning. Rest, heal, and hopefully the weather will be better tomorrow.” He offered a grin, turning and beginning out of the room without waiting much longer. He knew Muriel wouldn’t have much more to say, anyway, and he wasn’t going to press for any more conversation where he didn’t think it was necessary.

The door shut with a low sort of thump that hung in the air long after Julian was gone.

From there, his footsteps faded slowly down the quiet hallway of the manor. He was gone shortly, out into the depths of the manor with a smile on his lips. As cold as Muriel had been, Julian had sorely missed the company, only having infrequent visits from a couple of people that were nearby. Seeing someone new- someone who he could learn things about, talk to and have new conversations, it was exciting. He hoped Muriel would stay longer than a few days.

Muriel kept his wary gaze on the door until the echo of Julian’s presence faded. He waited until he felt alone… however no matter how many moments would pass, Muriel could still feel a presence crawling about the skin of his back as though something had been watching him. He figured with a shudder it was simply the atmosphere, though the thought was more of a conscious effort to calm himself down rather than confirming a fact. Muriel’s nerves were still spiked, even as he leaned down in his chair to remove his bloodied, rain sodden boots. 

He used the chair to stand and then a sturdy hand on the wall to move closer to the fireplace, unclasping the belts and straps where they hugged his waist, chest, and arms and laying the leather out to dry. He undressed until he was in nothing but his dampened trousers -- well, his trousers, and the bandages he’d keep wrapped around his wrists and forearms. Everything else was laid out by the fire alongside Inanna, who’d curled up into a shivering ball on the old, beautifully stitched rug. 

Muriel, his hand still on the wall, slid down slowly to his knees to place a hand on her back. Her tail thumped weakly. Halfheartedly. Muriel frowned, his brow furrowing as he leaned back. 

“Rest,” he said quietly, his voice gentle beneath the crackle of the kindling. Muriel reached his hand up and, with a ribbon he kept in one of his spare pouches, pulled his damp hair back out of his face -- presenting tired eyes and unkempt stubble, the shadow of the fire dancing across his features and scars. “We’ll leave sometime tomorrow.”

Inanna whined. Muriel gave her one last pet and a gentle pat, before pulling himself to his feet -- all his weight balanced onto the wall as he turned to look at the bed. It was made, of course, but dusty. Untouched, really. Muriel supposed it was again better than some of the places he’d slept before in his life of travel, and pushed himself off of the wall. Without the support his limp was a bit more staggered, but he reached the bed without falling and collapsed down into the old mattress. The springs groaned in shocked protest, but Muriel ignored them as he patted for the top of the covers and soon slipped beneath them. 

The sheets felt old. They smelled old. Muriel was too tired to care -- and it wasn’t as if he had any room to judge. He smelled of rainwater and travel. He turned to his side, looking about the candlelit room with an exhausted sort of stare in one last attempt at surveillance. The manor was strange. Dr. Devorak was strange. One night, however, wouldn't hurt. At least that had been what he figured. 

Even if somewhere deep in his gut, Muriel knew he should have kept as far away from that house as possible. 

~~~

Muriel woke late the next morning… so late, in fact, he couldn’t even say it had been morning. Perhaps it had been because of the exhaustion and excitement of the night prior. Maybe it was just because somehow no sunlight streamed in past the thick curtains that hung over the windows of his room -- the morning had no chance to wake him up with a splash of daylight. There hadn’t even been the singing of birds. 

The room was dark when he pushed up on his elbows from the mattress. The kindling had died down to a simmering pile of reddened embers that sparked and popped weakly in the fireplace, leaving nothing but the dimmed oil lamps that hung about the walls to light the space. Muriel squinted as he reached his hand up for the top of the covers, shifting around in bed and settling his feet upon the floor. His ankle throbbed dully with the beating of his heart. It would hurt, but he could walk on it. 

Inanna had hopped up on the bed sometime while Muriel had slept -- he hoped the Doctor didn't mind animals on his furniture, but at the same time he didn't disturb her rest as he stood from the bed. He even pet her as he limped past, making his way to the window to throw open the curtains.

The drapes hadn’t been hiding much. The world outside was grey. White light of a sun that worked hard to shine through the thicket of clouds above poured into the room, presenting the swirling dance of dust mites. A gentle rain pattered against the glass, beading up and slipping down in neat streaks against the condensation. Muriel frowned, looking out into the woods -- watching the way the trees and their branches swayed in the cool wind. 

At least it hadn’t been thunderstorming anymore.

Muriel let the curtains fall close and turned to move toward his discarded clothes from the night before. He was surprised to find them all folded -- completely dried. Even his cloak, which he had abandoned in Dr. Devorak’s parlor the night before, laid neatly upon the desk chair. Muriel frowned, a bit wary at the idea of such a stranger being in the same room with him while he slept. It was a shock Inanna hadn’t barked or woken him up. 

He stepped cautiously towards his clothes, reaching his hand down to inspect the furs and the leathers of his belts, and then the folds of his cloak. There was nothing wrong. Nothing suspicious. Muriel began to pull them on over his waist, but then found himself distracted by a piece of parchment paper laid beneath his cloak. 

It was a letter. 

The handwriting was horrid -- a terrible sort of chicken scratch that had to be read over once or twice before he could recognize the words. The letter was written in a deep red ink. Muriel picked it up and brought it closer to his face, brow furrowed as he studied it. It read: 

“Muriel,

I apologise for being unable to tell you in person, but I didn’t wish to disturb your sleep. I will be out until dusk, as there are urgent things in the local village I must attend to. Atop of that, I should go out fishing and to the village to get dinner for us tonight. I hope you’ll find a way to entertain yourself in my absence. Don’t strain your leg too much, but you can go wherever you like so long as you stay out of my quarters.

The kitchen isn’t overly well-maintained, but there should be enough food for breakfast if you’re hungry when you wake up. The garden is delightful, and if you want to go outside then feel free to roam out there. If there are any problems, I will be back at days end and can tend to your needs then.

J”

It was sloppy, and the words all seemed to melt together into each other, creating an almost incoherent and garbled letter, but it was just clear enough for Muriel to pick the words apart and decipher it. It did seem like there had been an effort (in the first half of the letter, at least) to keep it cohesive, with larger spaces between the words and rounder, clearer- though not too legible- letters compared to the end of the text.

But he was out, supposedly, on some vague mission that could easily be a lie, and there wasn’t a clear way to tell. It wasn’t like Muriel would ask when he came back from wherever he was.

Muriel sighed, read the note over again the best he could, and set the letter back down upon the table. He leaned up straight, unfurling his dry cloak and slinging it over his shoulders. The room was cool without the fire blazing -- Muriel was going to have to light it again. That was if he planned to stay any longer, of course. 

He planned it out as he limped his way to the door, opening it and peeking out into the dark, empty hall. Muriel would only stay until it stopped raining, and he’d leave without a word. If he was lucky, it would stop before Julian Devorak could return -- Muriel could slip away without having to deal with any fussing over his leg. There were probably maps somewhere in a study or library where Muriel could plan his route. He’d just have to find them and then wait for the rain to ease up.

Inanna was left to rest as he ventured his way into the cool, empty manor. His lonesomeness was strikingly apparent with each step further away from his room -- from the way the floorboards squeaked to the empty feeling of the air. The very aura of Julian’s home presented Muriel with one firm sort of fact: there hadn’t been another living soul aside from him and Inanna residing within its walls. 

As unsettling as such a feeling could be for most, Muriel found it comforting. Loneliness was his forte -- he found the search for the study peaceful despite the stillness of the atmosphere. He found the heavy quite of Julian’s grand, surprisingly well taken care of library familiar and welcoming as he thumbed through books of maps and charting, memorising the routes of the forest that surrounded the manor with ease. The hours that passed with Muriel sat in an old velvet cushioned seat while he studied the maps he spread out over the table -- nothing but the loneliness of the home and the patter of the relentless rain upon the window beside him -- were relaxing after the day of travel prior. Muriel just… liked being alone.

He found himself dully wondering if Julian felt the same. 

Time seemed to have escaped him while he was studying in the library. Of course, he never really grasped just how late he’d woken up until the bell of Julian’s old grandfather clock struck two p.m about thirty minutes after Muriel first ventured to the library. He stayed there until that same clock chimed six, and the little light outside had begun to fade. 

Muriel didn't eat -- he didn't even try to find the kitchen. He was too wrapped up in charting his route to the North, taking upon himself to plan at least two months of his current trip. Julian’s sources were plentiful and more reliable than anything Muriel had come across before. Needless to say, he simply lost track of time taking advantage of it. 

Around thirty past six, when the sun had just about set and the world outside was dark and rumbled with more impending thunder, Inanna trotted into the study, something held between her jaws. Muriel greeted her, and then blinked, double-taking at the sight of whatever had been in her mouth. He didn't have to ask for it -- Inanna dropped it at his feet. Muriel was cautious while picking it up, finding it to be something firm wrapped up in white paper… 

“Is this bread?” Muriel asked, his voice gruff and husky after not using it all day. He unwrapped it, his suspicions confirmed. Not quite freshly baked, smelling of pumpkin and cinnamon. He looked up, eyes wide. “Where’d you get this? The kitchen?” 

Inanna’s tail thumped. She gave a whine and sat down, cocking her head as she watched him ever so expectantly. Muriel gave a low sigh, but looked down at the bread in his hands anyways. It wasn’t until then he felt the emptiness of his own stomach, which growled at just the recognition. 

“You shouldn’t have done that,” Muriel said before taking a bite. Even if it hadn’t been fresh, the flavor was delicious. He spoke through a half mouthful after another bite. “We have to stay another night. What am I going to tell Dr. Devorak when he notices his bread is all gone?” 

Inanna gave a huff. She didn't care. Muriel snorted and leaned back in his chair, taking another grateful bite. He parted his lips to speak again -- but a dramatic flare of a voice cut him off as it rang out from the doorway, timed perfectly with a distant crack of thunder. 

“Muriel, I’m back!” Called out an all too familiar voice. The clicking of boots against the hardwood floor indicated to Muriel that Julian was coming to find him. It stopped once or twice- at the bedroom door once, to see if Muriel was still in his room, then in the kitchen, before he noticed the library door was open and began to approach. Following in his wake was the smell of food- freshly cooked food. When the door was opened fully, he came through and looked over at Muriel.

He smiled, seeing the map sprawled out about the table and Muriel eating something.  
“Ah, wonderful! You found everything!” he said, pushing the door shut behind him. He took a few steps towards him. He set down a basket beside Muriel, watching Inanna go sniffing at it and immediately scooping it back up into his arms. “Ah- no, uh, down, puppy. Down! Sit? I… ah, I haven’t dealt with dogs in a while… my old dog, Brundle, wasn’t nearly this big, either.”

He took a few paces back from Inanna, still clearly on edge around her after what had happened the day before. He still didn’t know if he and Inanna were on good terms, but he still wasn’t sure if he and Muriel were on good terms either.

He turned to look at Muriel, offering an apologetic sort of smile.  
“This, uh, is yours. I got back later than I’d expected, so… I hope you’re not too hungry.” He offered the basket out, and it seemed to be the source of the delicious smell. He didn’t elaborate on where he’d been, or what he’d gotten, hoping that Muriel would simply take the basket. He moved away, dusting off a gorgeous red armchair and settling down into it. 

“Please, enjoy.”

Suspicion was clear in Muriel’s features, his brow furrowed and his eyes narrowed. He leaned forward a bit, giving a hesitant sniff of the air. The moment he did so, his stomach clenched and his mouth began to water -- the scent heavy and alluring. Muriel flicked his gaze up to Julian’s watchful one for only a moment before reaching his hand up and taking the basket. 

“Thanks…” he mumbled, holding the basket to his chest for a moment before setting it onto the table -- on top of the maps. “I meant to leave earlier but the rain… It looks like I might have to stay another night.” 

Muriel left the bitter unfortunately where it rested on his tongue. 

He stood up from where he sat, ducking his head to hide the crinkling of his nose in reaction to the pain shooting up through his ankle. Muriel brought his hand up to some of the books he’d been studying and began to close them. He meant to clean it all up before Julian could return -- half because of simple manners, and half out of the concern that Julian would study his notes and follow him after he’d left. It wasn’t a logical worry of his, of course, but a rather apparent one. Muriel was good at covering his tracks. 

His past would never track him down. 

Julian nodded to him, leaning back, one arm resting behind his head.  
“Then stay,” he said, a small smile on his lips. “I’ve been without company for a while, though. Stay, settle. Staying until you’re healed is better than anything else. Speaking of your wound, however… Would you mind showing me it again? I want to ensure that there’s no risk of infection.”

He began to his feet, taking a few steady paces toward Muriel.  
“Oh- and please, eat. I can promise that I’d not poison the only company I’ve had in years.”

Julian, beginning to kneel beside Muriel to check his wound, stopped to look at Inanna.  
“She wont mind if I check, will she? I… I know you said she’d be fine, but… I’d rather not upset your dog.” That was part of the reason. The other part was that she’d bristled up her fur as Julian had neared Muriel’s wound and he was aware that getting mauled by her would be a risk to them both. Not to mention that Muriel wouldn’t have anyone to stop him from travelling with an injury and nobody to treat the wound he would inevitably worsen.

Muriel gave a low sigh, resisting the urge to roll his eyes as he eased back down into his chair. He turned to Inanna. “It’s okay,” he said to her — not Julian. “Nothing’s going to happen.”

Inanna gave a low whine. She ducked her head, however she didn’t back off. Muriel gave a gentle smile — one he was sure Julian wouldn’t be able to see. 

“If something does happen, yes. You can lunge.” 

A gentle yip of approval from Inanna, before she plodded over to his side, tail wagging idly behind her as she sat down beside his chair and watched as the now nervous Julian began rolling up Muriel’s pant leg. 

“Wh- But look at her teeth!” Julian protested, looking at Muriel as if he’d change his mind. “I don’t know what you expect to happen. I’ll be here for hours if I try to work without hurting you at the threat of being mauled.”

Muriel ignored him, his eyes lightly narrowed as they scoured over Julian’s work. Gentle bites and stings bit at his skin where the flesh wounds were as Julian unwrapped his leg — the deeper aches were constant and heavy, yet Muriel had grown somewhat used to them. He watched Julian’s features as the Doctor looked over his injury, trying to gauge some intel on just how much it had healed overnight. 

“When should I… when do you think I’ll be able to leave?” Muriel asked gruffly, stiff in his seat, head suddenly turned away so he wouldn’t meet Julian’s eye.

“Not until you can walk, at the very least,” Julian said, gaze flicking up to Muriel for a moment before fixing back onto the wound he was studying. He didn’t have the medical kit with him, but it didn’t seem like Muriel had put much strain on it. He’d need to get some rubbing alcohol and a cloth, though, to disinfect it before he wrapped it again. It was better to do that and be cautious about it than risk letting it get infected- that could take weeks to heal, provided that it didn’t need to be amputated.

And if Muriel wasn’t happy letting Julian dress his wound, he’d bet a handful of dubloons that Muriel wouldn’t let him close enough to attempt amputation. He… also wasn’t sure if his tools were sharp, either. And that definitely wouldn’t go down well.

“With the wound in it’s current condition, I’d think that you’d be ready in two weeks. Sooner, perhaps. Though before letting you out into the forest, I would need you to spend time walking out in the garden with me. That way I’d be able to assess the severity of the wound from how badly you’d limp, and I can get a better understanding of how quickly you heal.”

And when the dressing had been removed, blood had begun to pearl up at the surface again, spilling down his legs. Murmuring something unpleasant under his breath, Julian got to his feet.  
“I’ll fetch the disinfectant. Stay where you are.”

Muriel leaned up a bit, eyes wide. “Two weeks?” he echoed, tone pitched with a surprised disbelief. Muriel shook his head, preparing himself to stand until Inanna whined and settler her head upon his lap to stop him. “I can’t stay here for two weeks. That’s… that’s too long. I-...” Muriel trailed off, trying to think of something to say. “I have somewhere to be. I…”

He looked off to the ground, letting his shoulders slump. Muriel was never very good at lying. He shook his head and looked up to Julian, who had stopped in his tracks once Muriel began to protest. 

“I heal fast,” Muriel said gruffly. “I’m sure it won’t be that long. I’ve been hurt and have traveled before.”

“The wounds are deep,” Julian insisted. “They’re still bleeding heavily. I wouldn’t keep you around for longer than necessary- especially not after seeing how much you hate being here- but I don’t want to let you leave early and get yourself hurt again.”

He sighed, murmuring about the disinfectant as he left the room, not wanting to further this argument and let it take away focus from the injury, which was Julian’s priority. He wanted to get it wrapped up as soon as possible, anyway. So the door swung closed behind him as he left to go find his medical kit from where he’d left it the day prior. 

Muriel frowned, easing back into the chair and letting his head fall — his gaze on the ceiling before his tired eyes settled close. Inanna whined again, and Muriel lifted a hand to pet her head, pushing his fingers over her head and then scratching behind her ears as he thought. 

The longest he had ever rested somewhere before leaving had been two months. It was in a magician’s home — a magician Muriel felt so fond of, so comfortable near, he just couldn’t bring himself to leave. That had been about a year and a half ago, during a rather dangerous winter. Muriel has resided there for the months of December and January, and then he left without a word one frigid February morning. 

Muriel liked it there. The shop was busy, of course, but the company was friendly. He would have stayed longer, of course, but his instinct told him to go. To run. Two months had been too long, just as two weeks would be. Not to mention he had actually felt comfortable there with that magician. 

He didn’t feel comfortable at all in Dr. Devorak’s manor. Something was wrong with that house. 

Something was wrong with him.

“A week,” he said to Inanna. “I will stay for a week. Maybe.”

She huffed in agreement, her tail thumping against the carpet. They sat in silence, Muriel petting down Inanna’s back and scratching beneath her ears, until the Doctor returned.

It was another few moments before then, and when Julian came in he did so wordlessly, knowing not to press Muriel or risk upsetting him again. He moved over to his injury again, silent, and once more his teeth sank into his lower lip as he prepared the cloth. Once more, he ran it slowly over the injury, working to wipe away the blood and to seep the alcohol into the wounds. He was cautious, slow, and spared neither Muriel nor Inanna a glance. His prior anxiousness about upsetting either of them was gone, and he suddenly didn’t seem to be intimidated at the idea of hurting Muriel while disinfecting his wound and being attacked for it.

The silence was suffocating for him. It was clear that every few moments he would want to speak, parting his lips, but he would decide against it and instead he would sink his teeth back into his lip and continue to work. It only took a minute or so for him to have stemmed the blood flow enough to decide that it would be safe to wrap the wound again, the smell of alcohol strong in the room from where it had been used so heavily. He fixed the dressing tightly around the wound, tied it into place, and then pulled back almost as soon as he was done, not wanting to be too close to Muriel for much longer and cause him any more discomfort.

“That should be fine for now,” he said, looking down at his hands- stained with blood and wet with alcohol- and sighed. “I’ll return shortly, I ought to wash my hands.”

Muriel leaned up and looked down to his injury, brow furrowed. He waited until Julian had gotten to his feet and had turned around before very quietly speaking up. 

“Thank you,” he said. “I… I know I seem like I don’t appreciate this but… I do. I guess.” Muriel gave a low huff and looked away. “Whatever. Just thanks.”

Offering up a smile, clearly relieved that his help was appreciated and that he wasn’t overstepping any bounds, Julian nodded.  
“I’m glad I can help,” he said, beginning to the door. “Try not to put too much pressure on your injured leg and you’ll heal faster. The sooner you’re healed, the sooner you can leave, right? Eat your dinner while it’s still warm, and I’ll help you back to your room if you need it.” 

And, with that, he left once more, with just a promise that he would soon return to help Muriel to his room. Medical help seemed to be the extent of their conversation lately, and while Julian knew that it made Muriel more comfortable, he couldn’t help but feel a little disappointed about it.

Soon Muriel was alone with the echo of that door closing in the wake of Doctor Devorak’s exit. His gaze settled upon the large, handsome oaken doors of the living room, studying the old carvings in the wood and the spots of tarnish in the golden accents. Once again he found himself confused as to why Julian would let his home fall into such a state. Once again it unnerved him. 

Everything about that place unnerved him.


	2. Worse Wounds

The next few days were slow to pass, and relatively the same as Muriel’s first day in the Devorak residence. Julian would leave from sun up to sun down, and return to the manor with a basket of food for the kitchen and Muriel’s dinner. Muriel would leave his room for the library to sit by the fire and study Julian’s maps and old books — and then he would retire back the moment Julian would show and tend to his wounds again.

The rain left, but to Muriel’s dismay, it was replaced with snow. It wasn’t such a surprise for February — in fact, Muriel had to say it was a surprise that it had been the first snowfall he’d seen all year. Of course, it could have waited until Muriel left Julian’s manor and he would have been more impressed. He had traveled in snow before, but never with an injury. The piling of the white flakes and the icy winds that trembled skeletal limbs of trees were also more impressive points to Julian’s argument regarding how long Muriel should stay. 

Muriel’s distrust in that pale, charming stranger never did fade, however Inanna seemed to grow more used to the space and the company as the days passed. The traitorous wolf even let Julian pet her once after he had fed her a piece of fresh turkey he’d collected from town. Muriel couldn’t quite tell if Inanna’s change in heart was a relief or not. Part of him trusted her judgement more than his own, however the other part couldn’t disagree more. There was a disruptive dilemma in his heart — an internal discord of sorts. It left Muriel even quieter than usual whenever Julian would tend to his wounds. 

It was late the fourth night when Julian returned with food. His coat had been speckled with melting flakes of snow, his hair ruffled and his skin nearly whiter than the flakes that clung to it. Muriel could feel the icy quality of his skin when Julian handed him the basket of food — the brushing of their fingers was like the gentle touch of flesh to ice. Muriel’s eyes had widened at the touch, and he stood before Julian could even lean down to check his wound. There was pain of course, but Muriel was always good at ignoring it. 

“You’re freezing,” he said quietly. Muriel lifted his hand to point at the healthy fire he’d been tending throughout the day — the one that casted dancing shadows about the library with every twist of the crackling flame. “You should go by the fire. I’m fine for tonight — worry about yourself.” 

Julian must have been out in the snow all day. Muriel couldn’t tell why he hadn’t been trembling or shivering — Julian’s teeth didn’t even attempt to chatter. However the chill of his skin seemed something dangerous. The very touch even chilled Muriel. He could feel the shivers tracing down the back of his spine.

“Hm?” Julian frowned, looking at his hands for a moment, not seeming to feel the cold in them, taken aback by Muriel’s comment. “Are you worried about me, Muriel?” he asked, eyes shining curiously and a grin tugged up on his lips. Yet he wasn’t going to worry Muriel further, nor was he going to dismiss it as nothing, so he settled down on the floor by the fire. The golden glow danced across his face, giving his skin a healthier look with the warm tones of the fire. 

He didn’t expect to get a response from Muriel, though, so he continued to talk to avoid the awkward silence that had become so familiar to them.  
“How is your leg?” he asked, eyes fixed on Muriel. “I hope it’s feeling better by now. It looks better. You might be ready to start walking on it by the end of the week.”

He was being a little optimistic, sure, but he figured that a cheery attitude was better for Muriel’s current state than anything else. If he encouraged him and assured him that he was getting better, it might make Muriel feel better about staying until he was healed. 

“It’s fine,” he said quietly, watching Julian settle. Inanna trotted up to the Doctor, snuffing at his pockets for food before curling up at his side in front of the fire. Muriel rolled his eyes before continuing. “I’ll be leaving after the snow is gone.”

Muriel waited until Julian was sat in front of the fire to settle back down in his own seat and open up that basket of food Julian had brought him. As usual, the meal was mostly fish. Freshly cooked fish along with a collection of vegetables and bread. Muriel took out the fish and unwrapped it, digging around the basket for utensils. He wasn’t as hungry that night — having actually eaten breakfast and lunch, and even indulged himself in some tea he found in the spiderwebbed cupboards of the kitchen. 

It seemed as though Muriel was the only one to eat anything out of the kitchen — him and Inanna anyways. Nothing else would be touched the next day. He figured Julian ate somewhere in town every day, but he was sure that would get somewhat expensive. Muriel turned to him, waiting to swallow his mouthful of fish before speaking. 

“Do you… want some of this?” he asked bluntly, gesturing the basket.

Julian turned to look at him, shaking his head but offering a polite smile.  
“I’ve already eaten,” he said, as he did every time food was offered to him. “I appreciate the offer, but the food is yours and I’d not take it from you. You’re bigger than me and need it more anyway,” he said, his eyes flicking over Muriel’s body in a not-so-discreet manner before he fixed his attention back onto the fire. He could feel it’s warmth against his skin. It was pleasant. He rarely kept the fire on when living alone, but perhaps he ought to let himself enjoy the warmth of it a little more often.

“Is there anything in particular you want me to pick up for you tomorrow? I can’t imagine the same meal every day is too enticing.” That and he wanted to ensure that he was choosing food Muriel liked. He didn’t know the preferences of his guest, but this might have been able to clue him in a little. Though he was almost entirely sure he’d get yet another elusive answer from Muriel. 

Muriel shrugged, turning back to his basket. “This is fine,” he grumbled. “Unless you can find something cheaper… I don’t want to be a… burden.”

The word was sour on his tongue. Muriel ducked his head into the basket to hide his frown, rooting around for that bread. He’d only eaten about half of the fish and none of the vegetables — perhaps he’d eat the leftovers for lunch the next day. 

He ate the bread in silence watching Inanna and Julian with a narrowed eyed gaze before packing up the rest of the basket and standing. There was a twinge of pain in his ankle, but Muriel ignored it, sighing gently and making his way to the oaken doors. He stopped and called for Inanna, who reluctantly stood and slinked away from Julian and his pets. Muriel waited until she was by his side before looking down at Julian. 

“I’m going to bed,” he said quietly. “Night. I guess.” 

Julian got to his feet, dusting himself off. He had no reason to stay by the fire if Muriel was leaving now, and he ought to clean up. He still had to go to the village again, and he had more things to do in the garden, but it would be better to clean this sooner rather than later.  
“Goodnight, Muriel,” he said, beginning to collect books from the table to reorganise or put them away. “I’ll see you tomorrow. Remember to let me know if anything happens with your injuries, you know where my room is.”

He set aside a stack of books and folded up Muriel’s map, already considering giving it to him so he could find his way around even after he left, but deciding that it ought to wait. If he had the map, and if Julian was out all day, there would be nothing stopping Muriel from leaving and getting himself hurt further.

~~~

Seven days. 

Eight days. 

Soon nine days, and the snow still hadn’t stopped. Sometimes the flakes would let up and the sun would shine, but it was never enough to melt the packed down inches of snow that coated the forest ground outside. The world was still white, still cold. Whenever Muriel would step out to feel the air, his breath would leave him in puffs of white smoke that curled up into the atmosphere -- delicate in the instant it existed. Nine days and it was too cold to travel. 

Nine days, and somehow, Muriel’s leg had taken a turn for the worse. 

There was no denying something had been wrong with him. He slept later in the mornings. He ate less when Julian returned with food. His head felt tired and cloudy, his limbs growing weary the more he moved. The ninth day Muriel didn't leave his room at all. He remained in bed with Inanna, shivering despite the warmth of the flame. 

It didn't even occur to him that he had been coming down with a fever until that ninth day -- until he could feel the haze of it all fog his head. 

It was past nightfall when he heard the curious knock at his bedroom door. Inanna perked her ears up and cocked her head, moving from beside him to go to sit behind the door and yip. Muriel rolled his eyes and turned around in his chair, facing the door with a narrowed gaze. There was a shadow beneath the door slot, flickering with the light of what had to have been a handheld candle. 

“Come in,” he grumbled as he turned back to the fire, watching it dance behind the iron gate with a heavy sort of stare. Muriel tensed when the door began to open, but he ducked his head and ignored the usual fear he felt when Julian would enter the room. 

The man simply carried that quality around with him. 

Julian strode in, smiling as he pushed the door closed behind him. He stood brilliantly in his high waisted pants and ruffled white shirt, taking a few paces toward Muriel. He wore black gloves today, moving over toward the bed.

“How are you feeling today?” he asked, approaching the bed and sitting on the edge of it, reaching over to Muriel- and hesitating. “May I check your temperature? You’ve been growing more tired and your cheeks are flushed, signs of fever. There might be something happening with your wound, so I’ll need to check that too. I’m sure it’s nothing, but it’s better to be safe than sorry, hm?” He straightened up, leaning over and waiting for some kind of permission from Muriel.

At a little nod, almost unnoticeable, he tugged his glove from one hand and reached over, settling the back of his hand on Muriel’s head. He may not have been the best to examine this with his… already low body temperature, but even then he could tell that Muriel was abnormally warm.  
“You’re warm. I ought to get some warm water and make you some tea, perhaps? I’ll speak with someone about tea that can ease pain, though, as I have a friend who knows more about those kinds of things than I do. I’m a medical doctor, he’s more of a… herbal doctor.”

Muriel frowned up at him, a but put off by the chill of Julian’s skin against his own. For a moment he was worried, whether it be for his or Julian’s sake, he didn't know. However, Muriel could only figure it was his own fever that caused Julian’s hand to be chilling to the touch. It was the rational thing to think.

Wasn’t it?

Julian moved away, straightening up to move the blanket from Muriel’s injured leg. He looked at him, then glanced to Inanna, who had since trotted over to him. He pet the top of her head before pulling his glove back on and beginning to unwrap the wound.  
“No worries, Inanna,” he said fondly. “I know what I’m doing, and I’ve got your masters health as my top priority,” he promised her, able to see Muriel’s wound clearly now. He sighed a little, able to note pinkish swelling and white puss. It was infected, frustratingly, which must have been what was leading to the fever. 

He sighed, wrapping it back up to prevent the air from getting to it or from bacteria escaping. He’d need to get some more alcohol to disinfect it, and new bandages, and… perhaps he’d visit his herbal doctor friend to ask for a little aid with this kind of wound.

“It’s not looking good,” he said to Muriel, voice a little more serious now. His brows furrowed, his eyes fixed on the wound as he covered it over, his lip settling between his teeth as he tried to focus on his work. “I’m sure it’ll be healed in no time, this is just a small bump in the road, but I’ll need you to stay in bed. No strain for your leg, as much rest as possible- that’ll be the best option for you and your recovery.”

Muriel furrowed his brow, leaning up from his seat. “It’s just a little fever,” he argued. His voice was quiet but his conviction was a bit stronger, lips downturned into a gentle frown of sorts. “I’ve been sick before… it’s nothing. I can leave as soon as the snow lets up.” 

Inanna whined, standing from where she sat beside Julian to pace over to Muriel’s right, her head ducked and her ears pulled back. She huffed and nipped at Muriel’s side, earning a glare and tempered breath of his own.   
“We have to go, Inanna,” he said. “We’ve been here too long…” Muriel trailed off, turning back to Julian. He didn't look down at his leg to see how bad the damage had been -- perhaps he preferred the benefit of the doubt. “How long before you think I should go? As soon as I could possibly leave?” 

“Judging by the stage of the infection, I’d say it’ll need at least three days to heal,” he said, sighing as he turned, taking the medical kit from the table in Muriel’s room. He’d started keeping it there the night before back in case Muriel needed to tend to his wound himself, but. “A week if it worsens before it gets better. I’m going to need to disinfect and rewrap it and that might help prevent the worsening of the injury.”

He took out the rubbing alcohol and the bandages yet again, moving over to Muriel. All of the deep gashes that were now getting infected was a gruesome sight, but not one that Julian was unaccustomed to as he began to unwrap the wound properly, keeping Inanna away from his leg by moving his body to shield it from her. He knew she was just worried and wanted to see if he was okay, but the risk of fur or saliva getting into the wound could worsen it or transfer the bacterial infection to her. And dogs, typically, were out of his area of expertise. The best he could do was keep her away as he took the bottle and popped off the cork.

“Are you able to sit up? I don’t want to pour the alcohol here and get it over the bed if I can avoid it. It’ll also require moving your leg, but if you insist upon leaving soon then you’ll need to be able to handle it.”

Muriel sighed, and nodded his head, choosing not to speak as he shifted up a bit -- pushing with his arms. Hot pain sliced up his leg when he moved it, causing him to flinch and hiss a tight breath of air through his teeth, but Muriel still moved. He turned his head to look away, not wanting to watch Julian nor his bottle of alcohol. 

Inanna whined and abandoned her attempts to peek over Julian’s shoulder, and instead rounded her way around the bed to hop up by Muriel’s side. Muriel put a hand on her chest to hold her back, his other curled into a fist -- fingers curling into the bedsheets. 

“Three days,” Muriel muttered with a nod. “I’ll be leaving in three days then, if the weather allows it.” 

“I’d still advise against it,” Julian urged as he popped the bottle off of the rubbing alcohol, kneeling beside Muriel and unwrapping the wound properly so he could pour it into the wound to disinfect it. Perhaps if he were already going out to seek remedies for the wound he’d purchase more disinfectant and better bandages. 

He took a cloth and began to wipe down the wound, cleaning off the blood that began to spill and sighing as he dug out the roll of bandages. He was running low- hopefully if he left to get more Muriel wouldn’t take it as an opportunity to leave. He’d go that night, when he knew Muriel’s fever would keep him in bed. Then, hopefully, with the help of his friend he’d get a healing remedy good enough to prevent the infection from spreading.

He knew Muriel hated it here, but he’d hate it far more if Julian was forced to amputate his leg. That wasn’t even going into how long it would take for the wound itself to heal, to find a form of prosthetic, to teach him how to walk again…

If Muriel hated the idea of staying for more than three days, then he’d hate staying potential months or even a year. 

“We’ll have to hope for the best with this,” he said as he began to wrap the wound, tighter this time to save the blood flow. Muriel hadn’t been eating much recently and hadn’t been getting the nutrients he needed to replenish his blood. It could be dangerous if Julian wasn’t careful- perhaps he’d need to speak with his friend about that in a little more detail. “It could be a worse infection than it looks. You should brace yourself for the worst outcome, even if it means… potential amputation. I’ll do everything I can to prevent that, and it shouldn’t be what occurs, but I’d still encourage you to be as cautious as possible.”

He pulled his gloves off once the wound was wrapped safely, reaching over to pet Inanna in the scruff of the back of her neck.  
“Keep an open mind. If this wound worsens, I’m not sure to what extent I might have to go to. The good news, however, is that I have practice with amputation, so there should be a low risk factor.”

Perhaps that wasn’t the best note to end it on.

“Uh, is… Is there anything you’d want for dinner tomorrow?” He was clearly grappling, suddenly losing the composure he only seemed to have when he was at work. “I can get- uh- anything, I think. I’ve money and persuasive skills.” 

Muriel looked up at him quickly, eyes widening. Inanna by his side let her ears fall flat on her head at his shock. Muriel pushed up a little more, his face having paled a good shade or so. 

“What do you mean ‘potential amputation’?” he asked, his voice soft and frightened. “I-... I won’t let you do that. You can’t-”

He cut himself off, looking down at the bed — checking the vulnerability in his tone. Muriel brought his hands to the opposite arms, his teeth grit and his brow setting into something dark and brooding. 

“I’ll get better,” he mumbled. “I always get better. You won’t need to do anything like that.”

Julian took a few paces toward Muriel, settling a cold hand on his shoulder and gently pushing him back to lie down, looking at him with furrowed brows and a worried look in his eyes.   
“I’ll do everything I can to ensure that you’ll get better,” he promised, voice far quieter now, more serious. “But you must be aware that this is an incredibly dangerous wound. The cuts are far too deep and too close together. The infection got into one wound and spread too quickly. With your weakened immune system, you’re more vulnerable to it.”

His eye grew sad, no longer looking at Muriel as he moved back. His arms folded over his chest, fingertips drumming on his bicep as he ran the possibilities through his mind.   
“The fever shows that the infection is spreading, and if it isn’t stopped soon it could lead to a full body shut down. If the infection spreads… it could only be hours before it’s fatal.”

It had been a while since he’d last treated something like this, but sometimes during visits to the village he would volunteer at the local hospital to share his expertise. No wounds had been as difficult or as poorly treated as this. If Muriel hadn’t travelled so far with the wound, if he hadn’t put so much strain on his leg, if he’d been more cautious, perhaps his leg wouldn’t be in such a sorry state. Though, in the same sense, if he’d had better equipment, disinfectant, etcetera, maybe he would have been able to prevent this.

And though he wanted to work on preventing the spread and avoiding an amputation, he couldn’t help but wonder if the blame for the state of the injury lay on his shoulders.

Muriel frowned up at him, flinching when Julian put his hand on his shoulder, but relaxing after a long moment or so to lean back down against the bed. He averted his eyes to the far wall, giving a slow shake of his head -- not quite wanting to speak to the doctor but not wanting the doctor’s last few words be the only thing resting in the atmosphere. 

“I’ll get better,” Muriel echoed quietly, still not looking Julian’s way. “There’s… there’s no need for you to-... to do anything like that. I’ll just get better.” 

There were plenty of reasons Muriel didn't want to lose his leg -- the most obvious being that it was his leg of course -- but the most prominent one, however, had been the fact that without a leg he could no longer run. He could no longer travel from village to village, from town to town, from residence to residence. In fact, he’d sure he’d simply just be stuck with Julian, restrained to the manor -- the same spot. Muriel couldn’t get stuck, not yet.

There wasn’t enough distance put between him and his past. 

“Of course, if it does reach such a point, I will be able to find someone to prepare a prosthetic. It won’t permanently hinder you, I wouldn’t let it, but you need to keep an open mind.” He sighed, taking the medical kit and moved away, setting it back on the table. “I’ll go out looking for herbs for potential remedies tonight, but I want to ensure that you’re aware of the risks. It wouldn’t be fair for me to spring it onto you if it came around that I had to do it.”

He moved back, standing nearer to the door now.  
“I’ll leave you to settle with the news, Muriel. It’s not going to be a definite response to the infection, but I’ll give it three days to improve. Any longer and it would be risking your health. Three days… is still pushing it, but I want to give you a chance to adjust to the idea and to prove to me that it will heal.”

There was an uncomfortable, gross feeling tugging at his chest, dragging him down, stirring discomfort in his stomach. He couldn’t help but blame himself for this. Had he acted sooner, helped quicker, with better equipment and more precision, this would never have happened. 

This weight on his shoulders had pressed down onto him too much, too frequently, and for too long. 

He hadn’t visited the hospital for too long now. The aching had grown too powerful, the tension in his shoulders had made the movements of his hands too sudden and jittery. The weight of the bodies that piled up behind him were too much. They gripped his ankle, they tugged at his legs, they tried to drag him back down with them, and often he wished he could succumb to their calling, to open his arms and embrace the death that followed him for so long.

Yet he didn’t. And every evening he cursed himself for living through another day.

“I’ll leave you to come to terms with it,” he said to Muriel, though sorrow plagued his tone, his brows furrowing as his eye dragged to the floor, averted out of shame. “Inanna, I’ll bring your dinner to you shortly. Muriel, I trust that just some water and bread will do for now? Best to let your appetite be demanding and work around it, lest I want to be providing you with a bucket too.”

Muriel stared after him, noting the change of the man’s tone but not allowing himself to care. The worry was evident, as was the guilt -- but both were unwarranted. There would be no amputating any legs of any kind, as far as Muriel was concerned. The possibility was shoved far back, stuffed deep down into the concaves of his consciousness and rationality. Even with the sorrowful gazes from the doctor and the worried whines from Inanna, Muriel found himself unbothered. 

He’d been through worse wounds. Worse fevers. Worse pain. 

That one didn't matter. 

“Anything would be fine,” Muriel sighed, letting his head turn so his tired eyes looked up at the ceiling. “I’m tired. I’ll probably sleep before I eat anyways.” 

Despite how badly he wanted to ask if Muriel was okay, insist he would do something to help pick him up a little, Julian realised that it would be best to leave him where he was. He just figured that it would be best to let him come to terms with it, to let him be a little miserable about it. 

It wasn’t like anyone would be thrilled to find out that they might have to suffer an amputation. From experience, this was one of the… better reactions he’d gotten for it.

Julian nodded, whistling a little for Inanna.  
“Come here, girl,” he called to her softly, tapping his leg to tell her to come here. “I’ll get you something to eat. Let’s give Muriel some time to himself, hm?”

Muriel frowned and parted his lips to argue, but Inanna leapt up from where she laid beside him in bed and, without forgetting to give him a proper kiss on the cheek, left Muriel to go bounding toward Julian’s chirps from the door. Muriel watched her go, trying not to pout as he watched his wolf sit by Julian’s heels. She couldn’t have liked him too much, she just had to have been hungry -- Muriel decided he’d have himself believe that. 

The two exchanged brief, awkward goodbyes, and with a little whined parting from Inanna, the two left Muriel’s room and closed the door behind them. 

He sighed deeply in the silence, letting his eyes drift from the shadowed overhang of his bed down to the foot of the mattress. Muriel’s leg had been propped up on a properly fluffed pillow, out from beneath the blankets and wrapped neatly in those bandages, the dim orange glow of the fire dancing along the white fabric. He frowned and pushed up on his elbows, ignoring the woozy spin of his head as he tried to get a good look at the wound. It didn't look bad at all, tucked beneath all those white bandages. It didn't even hurt too much if he didn't go to move it. 

However a lot of sensations were beginning to feel fuzzy with that fever of his. 

Muriel slumped back down against the mattress and sighed, trying to ignore the slight tremor that crawled up his spine. He wasn’t worried. Not one bit. The only anxiousness came from the fact he was going to have to reside in Julian’s manor another three days and another three nights. Nearly two weeks would he have been cooped up there. Trapped. Immobile. The idea didn't sit well with him. 

Infection or not, he would leave soon. He’d find another doctor in town, and jump from that one to the next as he continued on his travels. He wouldn't say any longer than he needed to. 

He wouldn't.


End file.
